


The World Is Quiet (Here)

by Unknown



Category: Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket, Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Klaus IS Q, M/M, i am excite, i dunno, i think, i'm excited are you excited I am so excited, it's gonna be cute and fluffy, meeting the family type thing, still 00Q, that is what this story is basically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 19:40:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/678170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unknown/pseuds/Unknown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It would seem that Q has a family past that he's hiding from his friends, and most importantly, Bond. Of course, when that family past drops by for a seemingly innocent, friendly visit, well... things get a little awkward. Especially with Bond.</p><p>Or, the one where Q is Klaus Baudelaire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The World Is Quiet (Here)

**Author's Note:**

> Um, i just watched the movie and the kid that plays Klaus, Liam Aiken, looks like the guy who plays Q, Ben Whishaw. 
> 
> So then I wrote this. And yes I explain the whole book series/Lemony Snicket thing. No worries.
> 
> Q's 30 in this. So. Klaus was like, 13 in the last book and then, they were on the island for a year, so that makes him 14, with 16 years between, making Sunny about 18-19 and Beatrice 16. Violet is 32 since she's like two years older than Klaus. Ok! Awesome. Peace. And Bond is gonna be 40 since Daniel Craig is like 44. I'mma shave off some years cos I love him too much. 
> 
> UM THIS TURNED INTO SOMETHING COMPLETELY DIFFERENT THAN I HAD IN MIND.
> 
> Also I quoted Lemony Snicket and his book The Beatrice Letters in here. NONE OF IT IS MINE LOVES PLEASE DONT SUE ME MR. SNICKET'S LAWYERS.

It’s a Friday when Q gets a call from Eve Moneypenny while he’s debriefing with Bond after a mission. The latter is exhausted and now that he thinks of it, the former is equally tired. It’s only noon, Bond having returned earlier that morning after being stitched up at Medical. Bond hates Medical, Q knows; most double-oh agents do. But M had forced him into it this time, so.

Q holds up a finger and Bond makes a face but stops talking. “Q.”

“Hello darling,” Eve says and Q can hear someone in the background, speaking to someone else.

“Yes, Eve. What’s the occasion?” Q asks, and Bond makes another face, this one interested. In reality, most of Bond’s expressive faces look similar, but Q is a master at deciphering Bond, speaks the unique language that the agent singularly uses, so he can tell.

“There’s a few people here for you, actually. M referred them to me, told me to get a hold of you,” Eve says, sounding confused herself.

“I… wasn’t expecting anyone,” Q says. “Who did they say they are, exactly?”

There’s a moment where Eve asks and then she says into the receiver, “There’s a woman here that claims she is Violet Baudelaire. And she’s here with-”

“Tell her to hang on, I’ll be down in a minute,” Q says in a rush, his heart rate picking up. Oh god what happened? Has someone gotten hurt? Shit, shit, shit.

“Q?” Bond says and shit, Q forgot he was even in here.

“Go home and get some rest, 007,” Q says. “We can finish the debriefing tomorrow morning.”

“How about no?” Bond says, sliding down from the desk he’d been perched on. “What’s going on?”

“None of your business,” Q says, a blush staining his cheeks. He watches Bond’s beautiful baby blues appraise him and his nervousness, hopes he doesn’t notice that Q’s a bit breathless, but this time because of Bond’s stare. Q learned a long time ago, almost a year ago in fact, that Bond would always make him feel this way and that there was no point in fighting it. “I have to go. Excuse me.”

And he’s gone, rushing down to the foyer where Eve is waiting with them.

_His family._

* * *

Bond isn’t buying it. Q is never like that, nervous and apprehensive and excited all at once. He’s never seen Q do that unless it was directed at _him_ and though that might sound petty and selfish, Bond isn’t inclined to care. After almost a year of learning about his Quartermaster, getting all the information he could get his hands on, this is something new that he’s not familiar with.

So he follows. Obviously. And if Q doesn’t happen to notice, well. Bond can’t possibly be held responsible for his horrible skills of observation.

What he finds in the foyer, however, is not what he was expecting. At all.

* * *

The first person he sees is Violet. Dear god, his sister is a gorgeous young woman. He’s surprised she isn’t married already, looking so much like their mother that it hurts sometimes just to look at her. But Q gives her a hug and holds her close for a moment before pulling back.

“Violet,” he says, confusion in his voice. “What are you doing here?” He’s instructed her only to come to his workplace if she was in danger or if any of the girls were in danger. It’s been… a while since he’s seen her. She’s 32 years old, dear god. Has he really missed that much of his older sister’s life?

And his younger one, he immediately amends when he sees Sunny smiling from behind her. Her straw colored hair is pulled back in a bun and she’s grinning from ear to ear, a batch of brownies in hand. He scoops her up in his arms, because she’s always been his baby and will forever be in his eyes. He pulls away with a kiss to her forehead just to see Beatrice behind her. He literally picks Bea up and smothers her in kisses, not caring who sees. He’s in the safety of his workplace; why should he care who sees him being affectionate with his family?

“Uncle Klaus!” Beatrice says softly into his ear. She knows the rules. Now that he works for MI-6, it’s Q to protect all their identities. Still, she likes to bend the rules, a habit that she’s picked up from the rest of the Baudelaires.

“Hello darling,” Q says, kissing her cheek one more time before putting her down.

“Who are they?” Eve asks and he almost jumps; he’d forgotten she was there.

“Well, they’re-”

“Yes, Q. Do tell us who they are,” he hears behind him. Q freezes and Bond walks out of the shadows and right to them, Tanner beside him looking a bit lost at the goings-on.

Bond shoots him a lazy, attractive grin that puts his heart up a pace or two and smiles. He surveys the newcomers with a critical eye; an older woman with auburn hair and a ribbon tied to her belt-loop, an older teenager with her blond hair in a bun, sweets in hand and a young teen with a shy smile and sweet face. The older woman and teenager look familiar though.

“Introduce us, silly,” the woman says. Q’s too frozen though. Bond shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t, it… changes everything. Violet will see right through him and know. Know about how he feels about James Bond. Unfortunately, when he says nothing, Violet takes it upon herself to introduce the lot of them. “I’m Violet Baudelaire. That’s my sister Sunny, and my niece and ward, Beatrice.” She looks at Q and says, “I’m his older sister.”

Bond’s eyebrows go up and he looks at Q who’s just pale. Oh god she’s just… shit. Bond shoots Q a charming smile and says, “Well hello there Ms. Baudelaire. A pleasure.” He kisses her hand and then says, “James Bond. A… dear friend of your brother’s.” He turns his head to Q and winks. Q instinctively swallows hard and Violet shoots a look between them.

“Are you two-?”

“Wow Bill we should really go for some coffee!” Moneypenny exclaims. Q shoots her a thankful look as she hooks her arm in Tanner’s. “Really. I hear 003 smuggled in some Egyptian coffee grains and it’s supposed to be heaven. Have a cup with me?” Tanner agrees, catching on; give Q and his family some time to themselves.

“Tell M I took lunch early, yeah?” Q calls to her. She nods.

“Of course love,” she answers back. Then she looks at Bond. “Come Bond. Join us?” There’s a stubborn insistence in her voice that he can’t possibly miss. Bond just smiles slyly though.

“And miss the meeting of the family? I couldn’t possibly.” He sidles up to Q and throws an arm about the man’s shoulders, making the Quartermaster swallow dryly before scowling. “I think I’ll stay, chat for a while.”

Moneypenny opens her mouth to say something but Q says, “It’s fine Eve, I’ll handle him.” She nods and together disappears off with Tanner. Q turns to Bond then, glares.

“What?” the agent in question says.

“Yes, what is it Klaus?” Violet asks and Q cringes. She immediately makes a face. “Oh, he didn’t know? But I thought you worked with him?”

“I do,” Q says. He’s stiff and suddenly there’s a warm hand rubbing circles into his lowerback.

“On the contrary, I think Klaus is a very suitable name. Better than Q, at least,” Bond says. He bends closer to Q’s ear and whispers, “Relax, your secret is safe with me. Who have I to tell besides Eve, who probably already knows?”

“I hate you,” Q says, almost sounding like a child. But he does relax, because it’s Bond and he’s helpless, really. Violet is smiling at them and Q gets uncomfortable. He knows that look. He’s surprised that ribbon isn’t in her hair and she’s not planning. Probably trying to be secret about it, but she forgets how well he knows her.

“I brought you these,” Sunny says, stepping forward. She extends the brownies to him and before he can take them, Bond makes a move toward them, extracting himself from Q’s side.

“I’ll take those lovely – _shite_!” Bond swears as Sunny bites his hand. She looks at him with a critical eye and a moment later, while Beatrice is looking completely embarrassed and Violet is scolding Sunny, Q has Bond in his office and is bandaging his slightly bleeding hand. “She bit me.”

“Yes, she does that. Or used to. I thought she stopped. That’s odd, I’ll have to as Violet where that came from,” Q responds calmly, wiping the wound out with antiseptic.

“She bit me and I _bled_ , Q,” Bond says, slightly aghast. He looks down at his hand, then to Sunny where she’s steadfastedly not looking at Violet. “How old is she?”

“Eighteen,” Q says. “Which reminds me. Shite, I missed her birthday.” He finishes bandaging Bonds hand and sighs, sitting on the desk near him. As Beatrice makes her way over, he says, “She used to have a thing for biting when she was a babe. Bit everything and we used to play fetch.” He chuckles as his niece gets closer. “She started cooking and baking when she got more teeth. But her front four are the strongest.”

“You don’t say?” Bond says dryly. He nods to Beatrice when she stops in front of them.

“You shouldn’t have grabbed the brownies,” she says sweetly and Bond frowns.

“Why not?”

“They were for Uncle Klaus especially,” the sixteen year old says with a shrug. “He’s been away for a bit. That’s why we came to visit. Auntie Violet thought it’d be nice to surprise him.” She turns to Q with a worried smile. “Surprise?” She looks away. “Sorry that Sunny bit your boyfriend. She’s just angry you haven’t called or anything.”

“Work has been harsh and I…” Q stops. “Wait, he’s not-”

“Sorry,” Sunny interrupts. She’s talking to James. “That I bit you, I mean. But you surprised me and I’m… in a poor mood.” She looks at Q. “Some people are to blame.”

And Q feels bad about it. He’s been so wrapped up in 007 and work and MI-6 that it’s just been so crazy. He should never have neglected his duty as an older brother or as a brother altogether. That was just poor of him. Q forgets about Bea’s comment and hugs Sunny, trying to show her how sorry he is.

“Happy Birthday Sunny,” he says to her, kisses her cheek. “And I _am_ surprised.” He shoots a look at Violet over his little sister’s shoulder. “Though it wouldn’t have killed you to call. I thought someone was dead. This is my workplace and I did say to come in an emergency.”

When he pulls away and backs up a step, his back bumps into Bond’s chest and he startles. Strong arms come up to steady him and they don’t leave, just wrap around his torso, pull him closer, and Q is actually really confused.

“I never knew you had such a lovely family,” he says and Violet smiles.

“Thank you,” she says to him, nodding. She smiles wide then, and something in Q’s chest seizes, because he knows that smile. That’s the smile everyone gets when James shoots them his patented James Bond Sexy Smile, the one that makes people melt into a pile of goo and hormones. And of course Bond is flirting with his sister. He doesn’t know if he’s mad at his sister for getting the attention or at Bond for giving it.

He pulls away then, ignoring Bond’s sound of surprise and even disappointment. The agent is being odd and it’s toying with Q’s emotions. He can’t stand this. He doesn’t know what game Bond is playing, but Q can’t afford to play along. His heart can’t take that.

“How about I take you girls to lunch?” Q suggests.

“Will Mr. Bond be coming along?” Violet asks. Q looks at Bond, who’s opening his mouth, but Q beats him to it.

“Oh, no. Agent Bond will be going home to sleep and get some rest,” and Q means it. Bond looks like he’s about to pass out, even though he’s adept at hiding it. But not from Q. Q knows him and gives him a softer look. Bond might be agitating and hurting him without meaning to, and Q might need a break from him getting into his personal family business, but he does care about the man’s well-being. “Seriously James,” he says lowly, allowing himself this one thing, just this one time. “You look beat. Go home, get some sleep.” Then he hesitates. “Go to my flat if it’s closer, just…” He shakes his head. “You look about ready to drop.”

Bond looks at him and Q doesn’t understand the look on his face but the man cracks a soft, genuine smile and nods. “Good old Q, always looking out for me.” He gives Q’s arm a squeeze and smiles at Violet and the girls. “I’ll be taking my leave. Your brother is right. I’ve had a tough week. I’ll retire. It was lovely meeting you all though.” He pointed at Sunny. “Especially _you_ and you’re interesting teeth.” With that he leaves and his sisters and niece look at him in confusion.

“What?” he says.

Violet frowns. “What is it you do for a living, again?”

Q snorts. Right. Back to square one.

* * *

Because Bond never does things the easy way, he makes his way over to Q’s flat. He gets in easily, and smiles to himself when he collapses on the couch. He’s one of few that have a spare key and know where the damn place even is. As it is, he prefers it to his own flat. Q’s place has become to feel more like home as the months have passed, and now that almost a year has passed, Bond finds that he’s much more comfortable here than anywhere else. Many a night has been spent here making soft conversation with the mysterious man whose hands he puts his life each day.

But Bond never expected this.

A family? Sisters and a niece Bond suspects isn’t actually a niece but a ward they took in from god-knows-who. The biter? The sweet one? The older sister who looks calm and calculating and smart, that Q seemed to look up to? No, it’s not what Bond had expected.

He hadn’t expected his chest to get tight when he walked in to see Q with Beatrice in his arms, kissing her silly all over the face, a smile bright on his face, that look of love in his eyes. Bond hadn’t expected That look of fondness on Q’s face or his light banter with Violet, that guilt when he realized he’d let Sunny down, his lack of surprise at the bite’s damage or even the fact that she bit people.

Bond didn’t expect his heart to squeeze when he didn’t contest to Beatrice saying they were in a relationship. Sure he’d tried, but he never actually did and that did things to Bond’s head. Yes, he’d been touchy, touchier than usual, just to see what Violet would do. And she seemed to expect something was between them, just like Eve and Tanner, just like the majority of MI-6. Hell, even M had taken Bond aside once and asked him if he’d feel more comfortable going on far missions if they kept a security detail on Q while he was gone. It had taken Bond a moment, but he’d realized what M was trying to say and had actually stuttered out an explanation.

No they weren’t together, so it wasn’t necessary.

Oh but Bond couldn’t ignore that fierce need to protect Q, that feeling he’d never actually had before. Well, maybe he did, but that was ages ago, those faces long, long gone, and not half as important as the man whose flat he was in. Bond had tried countless times to fuck it out of his system, hooking up with random men and women on his missions. He didn’t care who it was, he just needed to get it out. But it didn’t work. The second he was back at MI-6, hell, back in England, his mind went straight for Q, and then the man acted like that. Making sure Bond was alright, arguing with him, forcing him to take care of himself, not buying or taking his bullshit, calling him out on it.

Bond rubs his eyes and sighs. God, he’d almost been wrecked seeing Q like that, loving and free and familial. Some dormant paternal part of him had been briefly awakened, created even. Bond isn’t one for children. In missions, they’re either an unfortunate collateral damage, orphaned because of him, or in harm’s way. At work, they’re just another thing that agents have to worry about. What if the enemy gets their hands on their children? Steals their daughters and sons, tortures them, uses them as bait? It’s an unnecessary worry, one Bond never wants to go through. And yet, looking at Q with his sisters and niece…

Bond shakes his head. Damn-it! He’s been doing so well. He’s been doing great, even. And then this. He gets off the couch, his mind overtired and therefore not too keen on letting him actually sleep. He starts to wander around the flat, marveling as always at the sheer number of books lining the many shelves. All about the house, Q has shelves decked with books about everything and anything. Bond knows that Q’s spare room has been turned into a library with more volumes and tomes. He’s been stitched up in there by the man himself, been lectured with soft, clipped words and hushed tones about the life of each book, where it come from, what it’s about. Bond runs his fingers down the withered spines of the books in Q’s sitting room. He doesn’t know much about these, though.

A book catches his eye, high on the shelf and pulled to the back, as though Q had been trying to hide it, even from himself. Bond stands on his tip-toes, wincing as he pulls at his stitches a bit while trying to get the book. The one novel turns out to be 13 books in a series, and he tugs down the little cardboard case they’re all in. Sitting on the couch, he picks up the book with a 1 on the spine. Turning to the cover, his eyebrows go up. _A Series of Unfortunate Events_ it says. _The Bad Beginning._ The author inscribed at the bottom of the hardcover is someone by the name of Lemony Snicket. Huh. Odd. Bond’s never heard of them and when he reads the first dedication on the inside cover, he blanches.

 _For Beatrice_ , it says. _Darling, dearest, dead_. Bond opens the book and without another word, begins to read.

He doesn’t move until the sun is gone and every single one of the A Series of Unfortunate Events books has been written. By the end, he has a pretty good idea of what he’s just read, of how what he’s just read will affect him. A history of the Baudelaire Orphans, it had said. He only knew of one Baudelaire family, only one Violet Baudelaire, had been bitten by Sunny Baudelaire and smiled at by Beatrice Baudelaire.

And loved. He’d been loved by Klaus Baudelaire.

And that’s when the door to the flat opened.

* * *

Q gets everyone settled in booths at a quiet little restaurant and spends the majority of the wait for their meals listening to Sunny and Beatrice tell him in elaborate detail what he’s missed the past year and a half since he’s become Quartermaster. Sunny’s almost graduating, has been accepted in Oxford (of course she has, she’s his sister; one of the brightest, most elite young women he’s ever known, despite what she’s been through). Beatrice has taken up writing, just like him, she says.

“I thought I could start something too,” she says with a shrug. “You’re penname, Lemony Snicket, well. He needs a past, doesn’t he?” She grins. “It’s called _All The Wrong Questions_. And the first book will be called, _Who Could That Be At This Hour_?” She smiles, proud of herself and Q makes a mental note to collaborate with her, make sure that her story matches up with the background he’s let shine through in the _Unfortunate Events_ books. He doesn’t doubt that she’s completely accurate, but still. Better to be safe than sorry. And he wants her to know she has his blessing.

Then the food comes and the two of them run to the bathroom, thick as thieves. Which leaves him alone with Violet and no, that’s not alright. He knows exactly what she’s going to say.

“Violet, don’t,” Q says, digging into his salad.

Violet picks up her sandwich and smirks. “Oh, come, come, Klaus. You must give me all the nasty details.” She giggles and takes a bit of her sandwich. “I’m waiting.”

“There’s nothing to share,” he insists. “He’s just a friend.”

“A dear friend,” she reminds.

“Those are his words, not mine,” Q says.

“Klaus,” Violet says, putting her hand over his for a moment. “It’s alright to love someone. I saw how you were looking at him.”

“Does it matter?” he asks. Q takes back his hand. He’s worked so hard to get here. Years of therapy to get over Olaf, years of trying to just be able to look at Beatrice, to reconnect with his sisters. When they were finally adopted by an actual relative that was decent, he’d worked for his own recovery so hard. He’d wanted it so badly. Sunny had been so young, can barely remember the year and a half of hell they went through. Violet was older, figured out how to deal with the trauma easier. Beatrice doesn’t know a thing and if Q has his way, she never will. But Q, god, he’d found it the hardest to deal with. Of course their new caretaker had helped immensely with that. She’d showed him the beauty of books again and, of course, the beauty of binary code.

The rest, as they say, is history.

“Of course it matters!” Violet says. She picks at her food until the girls come back and start in on theirs.

“So,” Sunny says, smiling. She makes a face though. “Oh Christ, I could have made this better and I’m a _child_.” She pokes at her pasta. “Pasta puttanesca.” She smiles sadly to herself and a shadow passes over Violet’s face, a look that is mirrored by Q. “Anyway,” Sunny says. She clears her throat. “So, that man that was all over you…” Beside her, Beatrice stifles a giggle, oblivious to the tension she’s just relieved.

“Nothing is going on with me and James Bond!” Q says hysterically. Violet, Sunny, Beatrice and several other patrons look at him, unconvinced. “You bloody…” He shakes his head. “Leave me be, all of you.” Q digs viciously into his salad. Those spinach leaves never really had a chance.

Violet sighs. “We haven’t seen you in person since the last book came out,” she says with a frown. “We haven’t gotten a call from you, or Skype message since you started whatever your new job is. We got… worried.” She and Sunny were worried, she means. Worried that he’d had a lapse. There’d been a whole year when he was 18 that he had been sure Olaf was still alive and hunting him, he’d been so paranoid. It took two trips to his grave in Ireland to convince him otherwise.

“I’m fine,” he says pointedly. Then he looks at Beatrice and nudges her under the table with the toe of his shoe and smiles indulgently at her. “Isn’t that right, dearest Beatrice?”

“Darling, dearest, dead,” she says and giggles. Violet and Sunny make identical faces.

“I hate it when the two of you do that,” Sunny says.

Q opens his mouth to quote again when Violet says, “Don’t you dare, Klaus. I swear, I will think up a way of horrible torture for you.” Q rolls his eyes. Whatever.

“Neither of you are any fun, are they Bea?”

“Nope,” she says and they all go back to their meals. When lunch is over, Q pays and walks them to Violet’s car.

“Call,” she says. “And talk to that fellow of yours,” she adds. “I saw the way you looked at him…”

“Vi,” he starts.

“…and the way he looked at you, so. Don’t you ‘Vi’ me,” she says, then hugs him tight. “Don’t you ever scare us like that again,” she whispers. “After Emma died…” She shakes her head. “Right after you started to work.” She pulls back and kisses his forehead. For a moment, Q wants to be Klaus again, immersed in a library, playing with Sunny, lending a helping mind to Violet’s projects. She designs tech now for some big company or another. He’s sure Sunny’s going onto great things, and by the way she’s going Beatrice is going to be a great author one day. Q takes a deep breath and wishes he could let himself disappear in his older sister’s embrace, become the needy child he once was and let himself be taken care of.

But then Bond flashes in his mind’s eye and he knows that this is who he is now and that he can’t go back. And maybe he doesn’t want to.

“Keep in touch, for goodness’s sake,” Violet says once more before stepping back. Sunny takes her turn and mumbles nonsense into Q’s ear, but he can understand her. He kisses her cheek and wishes her luck before helping her into the car. She’s driving already and he’s irrationally worried. Beatrice is last. She hugs him the hardest and when she pulls away, she kisses his cheek.

“Read my manuscript when it’s done?” she asks.

“Of course,” he says. “I’ll even be your editor if you want.” Her responding grin is blinding.

Q watches his family drive away and makes a silent promise to be a better brother to them all. He heads home feeling a bit hollow and raw and almost jumps when he finds someone sitting on his couch.

It’s Bond. Which would be fine except that he’s got his feet on the couch and all around him are the _Unfortunate Events_ books and _Bond is not an idiot_.

Shite.

* * *

“I can explain,” Q says quietly, shutting the door behind him. Bond just looks at him. “But first I want to know what you know. Or think you know.”

Bond is quiet, appraising Q for a moment before he pats the couch space next to him and beckons for Q to join him. Q does and once he’s settled, Bond settles closer. He pushes the books aside and thinks on how to word his next sentence for a moment before he finally figures out what he wants to say exactly.

“I can only guess at what this is all about. What I want to know is the truth, not the fictionalized version of it. I want to know if I’m right.”

“And what do you want to know that you’re right about?” Q asks cautiously.

“The VFD,” Bond says slowly, “is MI-6, isn’t it?” Q nods slowly, eyes tight shut. Bond nods; he’d thought so. “And Count Olaf was a rogue agent. He killed your parents, didn’t he? They were agents with MI-6, the both of them.”

“Yes,” Q says. “The three of us were orphaned. Olaf took us in under the pretense that out parents had willed us to him. Obviously they hadn’t, but back in those days, MI-6 didn’t have the security it has now and…” He shakes his head. “We got away. Jumped to so many people. Other agents got involved. That’s who all the guardians are, all the different agents that tried to get us out. Olaf found most of them, killed them off. He hated them all, hated my family the most because my parent’s got him kicked out of MI-6 for treason.”

“The island is… Ireland then? The Island in the last book?” Bond asks carefully.

“Yes. A showdown of agents of sorts. The mushroom is poison, cyanide. The apple is the antidote, how we tried to get it to the others.” Q stops, feels the panic coming up his throat, the hysteria. There’s a warm hand on his back now. “Beatrice’s mother did give birth to her there. Olaf was dying of a stab wound and the cyanide. Ishmael was that other man’s code-name. I don’t know who he was, still don’t. And I’ve _tried_. He knew my parent’s, worked with them.”

“Q,” Bond starts, his voice low and soft.

“No. I need to get this out. If not to you, then who else? Who else will care?” Q asks. He let’s out a shaky breath. “Beatrice is Olaf’s daughter. It took me a while to get used to her. After the fight, we were given to my mother’s aunt. She took us in, got me some therapy, helped me heal. Violet found solace in her inventing and Sunny was so young that after a few months of nightmares, she barely remembered. By the time she was five, she only remembered bits and pieces. Beatrice has no idea her father was a rogue agent, hell-bent on ending my family because they knew what he was doing, killing all those people.”

“Why’d you make children’s books out of it?” Bond asks. “And using your own names?”

Q shakes his head. “I was twenty when I published those. Throughout our ordeals, I kept journals. I turned them into books. It was… cathartic for me. And no one is going to believe that three children went through so much heartache. And the dedications were for little Beatrice and all the pain she missed, all the hurt I went through, how much I missed my mother. We named Bea after her, you know. That part was true. These were for her.”

“You fictionalized most of it,” Bond says.

Q shrugs. “The important parts are true. We all have those talents. The second the ribbon is in, Violet is off with her mind and hands. I am a bookworm, obviously, with photographic memory and high intellect. Sunny can cook and bake, and bite and it helped more than one would think,” he says. He stops. “As for the names, we’re protected. Our new and last official caretaker was part of MI-6 before she died. No one would trace anything back to us.”

Bond pauses for a moment. “Who was she?” He knows. Bond knows, he just wants to be certain.

“M,” Q says softly. “She was M.” He laughs without mirth. “Orphans are always the best recruits,” he quotes. “And by the time she took us in, you were already on the field, so.” Now he really laughs. “She practically created me.”

Q drops his head into his hands and tries not to sob because this was years ago. He’s moved past it, but it’s still so hard to talk about. He swallows and looks up, but when he does, it’s to Bond staring at him with that look again. Q has this feeling that he can decipher it now.

“Why’d you tell me all of this?” Bond asks. “You could have yelled and thrown me out. You didn’t.”

“Why’d you care about what happened to me?” Q asks instead.

“I always wondered how you got into the life,” Bond admits. “Getting hunted down by a rogue agent makes sense.” He shrugs. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I trust you, alright?” Q yells, standing up.

Bond looks shocked. “What if you weren’t ready to?” he asks, unsure about everything, about that declaration and what it really meant.

Q blinks his eyes at him, blinks away the tears and says brokenly, “God James, if we wait until we’re ready, we will be waiting for the _rest_ of our _lives_.” His voice breaks in the end, making him choke back a sob. What was he thinking? Admitting this to James Bond of all people, the one person he’s carrying a torch for.

“Was it a spyglass?” James asks softly.

Q wipes a tear from his cheek, points to a mount on the wall and when James looks, he sees a rusty old, bronze spyglass. “They used to have those. Not a real spyglass though, and my parents were the only ones who had one, but I thought it was a nice touch to add to the story.”

Bond picks up one of the books, _The End_ Q can see, and flips through it before putting it down. “So this is your story. This is your truth.” He looks at Q.

Q purses his lips. “The sad truth is, the truth is sad,” he quotes from himself, biting his lip to keep from crying again.

Bond gets up then, walks over and doesn’t even hesitate when he wipes the stray tears from Q’s face. He’s close and Q doesn’t know what to think. He swallows hard and Bond follows the motion. “This changes nothing. Now I know as much of your past as you know of mine.” He pauses, moves closer and leans in. Q wonders about how Bond will react if he leans in and kisses him like he wants to. “Is that the only truth you have to tell me, Klaus?”

In that moment, Q knows. He knows that there’s more to this man, that his feelings aren’t misplaced and that by some good grace of God, James might actually feel the same about him. That maybe, this was the catalyst they needed all along and that Violet with her brilliant mind, was right after all. As usual.

“I… I think I might… possibly be a little bit in love with you,” Q says, licking his lips. He gives a small shrug. “Just a little bit.”

The smile on Bond’s face warms Q’s insides. “Oh, only a little bit?”

“Mmm, yes. Seems so, 007. Disappointed?” Q  jokes, his heart thumping in his chest.

“Oh no not at all.” His face falls, barely perceptible unless one was schooled in the facial tics of James Bond. Which Q was. “Until you get sick of me,” Bond adds, his voice changed, something vulnerable just under the surface.

That’s the point that Q gets angry. He gives Bond a shove, separating them, catching the man by surprise. “Oh don’t you dare,” he practically snarls. “Always. Continuously. With increasing apprehension, and decreasing hope. I will love you with no regard to the actions of our enemies or the jealousies of actors. I will love you with no regard to the outrage of certain parents or the boredom of certain friends. I will love you no matter what is served in the world’s cafeterias or what game is played at each and every recess. I will love you no matter how many fire drills we are all forced to endure, and no matter what is drawn upon the blackboard in a blurring, boring chalk. I will love you no matter how many mistakes I make when trying to reduce fractions, and no matter how difficult it is to memorize the periodic table. I will love you no matter what your locker combination was, or how you decided to spend your time during study hall. I will love you no matter how your soccer team performed in the tournament or how many stains I received on my cheerleading uniform. I will love you if I never see you again, and I will love you if I see you every Tuesday. I will love you if you cut your hair and I will love you if you cut the hair of others. I will love you if you abandon your baticeering, and I will love you if you retire from the service to take up some other, less dangerous occupation. I will love you if you drop your raincoat on the floor instead of hanging it up and I will love you if you betray your father. I will love you even if you announce that the poetry of Edgar Guest is the best in the world and even if you announce that the work of Zilpha Keatley Snyder is unbearably tedious. I will love you if you abandon the theremin and take up the harmonica and I will love you if you donate your marmosets to the zoo and your tree frogs to M. I will love you as the starfish loves a coral reef and as kudzu loves trees, even if the oceans turn to sawdust and the trees fall in the forest without anyone around to hear them. I will love you as the pesto loves the fetuccini and as the horseradish loves the miyagi, as the tempura loves the ikura and the pepperoni loves the pizza. I will love you as the manatee loves the head of lettuce and as the dark spot loves the leopard, as the leech loves the ankle of a wader and as a corpse loves the beak of the vulture. I will love you as the doctor loves his sickest patient and a lake loves its thirstiest swimmer. I will love you as the beard loves the chin, and the crumbs love the beard, and the damp napkin loves the crumbs, and the precious document loves the dampness in the napkin, and the squinting eye of the reader loves the smudged print of the document, and the tears of sadness love the squinting eye as it misreads what is written. I will love you as the iceberg loves the ship, and the passengers love the lifeboat, and the lifeboat loves the teeth of the sperm whale, and the sperm whale loves the flavor of naval uniforms. I will love you as a child loves to overhear the conversations of its parents, and the parents love the sound of their own arguing voices, and as the pen loves to write down the words these voices utter in a notebook for safekeeping. I will love you as a shingle loves falling off a house on a windy day and striking a grumpy person across the chin, and as an oven loves malfunctioning in the middle of roasting a turkey. I will love you as an airplane loves to fall from a clear blue sky and as an escalator loves to entangle expensive scarves in its mechanisms. I will love you as a wet paper towel loves to be crumpled into a ball and thrown at a bathroom ceiling and an eraser loves to leave dust in the hairdos of the people who talk too much. I will love you as a cufflink loves to drop from its shirt and explore the party for itself and as a pair of white gloves loves to slip delicately into the punchbowl. I will love you as a taxi loves the muddy splash of a puddle and as a library loves the patient tick of a clock. I will love you as a thief loves a gallery and as a crow loves a murder, as a cloud loves bats and as a range loves braes. I will love you as misfortune loves orphans, as fire loves innocence and as justice loves to sit and watch while everything goes wrong. I will love you as a battlefield loves young men and as peppermints love your allergies, and I will love you as the banana peel loves the shoe of a man who was just struck by a shingle falling off a house. I will love you as a volunteer fire department loves rushing into burning buildings and as burning buildings love to chase them back out, and as a parachute loves to leave a blimp and as a blimp operator loves to chase after it. I will love you as a dagger loves a certain person’s back, and as a certain person loves to wear daggerproof tunics, and as a daggerproof tunic loves to go to a certain dry cleaning facility, and how a certain employee of a dry cleaning facility loves to stay up late with a pair of binoculars, watching a dagger factory for hours in the hopes of catching a burglar, and as a burglar loves sneaking up behind people with binoculars, suddenly realizing that she has left her dagger at home. I will love you as a drawer loves a secret compartment, and as a secret compartment loves a secret, and as a secret loves to make a person gasp, and as a gasping person loves a glass of brandy to calm their nerves, and as a glass of brandy loves to shatter on the floor, and as the noise of glass shattering loves to make someone else gasp, and as someone else gasping loves a nearby desk to lean against, even if leaning against it presses a lever that loves to open a drawer and reveal a secret compartment. I will love you until all such compartments are discovered and opened, and until all the secrets have gone gasping into the world. I will love you until all the codes and hearts have been broken and until every anagram and egg has been unscrambled. I will love you until every fire is extinguished and until every home is rebuilt form the handsomest and most susceptible of woods, and until every criminal is handcuffed by the laziest of policemen. I will love you until M. hates snakes and J. hates grammar, and I will love you until C. realizes S. is not worthy of his love and N. realizes he is not worthy of the V. I will love you until the bird hates a nest and the worm hates an apple, and until the apple hates a tree and the tree hates a nest, and until a bird hates a tree and an apple hates a nest, although honestly I cannot imagine that last occurrence no matter how hard I try. I will love you as we grow older, which has just happened, and has happened again, and happened several days ago, continuously, and then several years before that, and will continue to happen as the spinning hands of every clock and the flipping pages of every calendar mark the passage of time, except for the clocks that people have forgotten to wind and the calendars that people have forgotten to place in a highly visible area. I will love you as we find ourselves farther and farther from one another, where once we were so close that we could slip the curved straw, and the long, slender spoon, between our lips and fingers respectively. I will love you until the chances of us running into one another slip from skim to zero, and until your face is fogged by distant memory, and your memory faced by distant fog, and your fog memorized by a distant face, and your distance distanced by the memorized memory of a foggy fog. I will love you no matter where you go and who you see, no matter where you avoid and who you don’t see, and no matter who sees you avoiding where you go. I will love you no matter what happens to you, and no matter how I discover what happens to you, and no matter what happens to me as I discover this, and no matter how I am discovered after what happens to me happens to me as I am discovering this. I will love you if you don’t marry me. I will love you if you marry someone else – your co-worker, perhaps, or Y., or even O., or anyone Z. through A., even R. – and I will love you if you have a child, and I will love you if you have two children, or three children, or even more, although I personally think three is plenty, and I will love you if you never marry at all, and never have children, and spend your years wishing you had married me after all, and I must say that on late, cold nights I prefer this scenario out of all the scenarios I have mentioned. That, James, is how I will love you even as the world goes on its wicked way. I never want to be away from you again, except at work,” he concedes with a small smile, the joke slipping through, “in the restroom,” not entirely true, actually, he would love to have James in the shower with him all to himself, “or when one of us is at a movie the other doesn’t want to see.” That one he actually means.

Bond stares at him in shock, swallowing hard himself. Q doesn’t dare look away now. “Don’t tell me how I’ll feel,” Q continues, his voice a bit hoarse. “Because _I will love you_ no matter the circumstance.”

“I can see that,” Bond says quietly. “I can’t make declarations like that. Anything I say will pale in comparison. I don’t have the words.” He sounds almost frustrated.

“You don’t have to,” Q says quietly. He takes in a deep breath ready for the rejection. “You really don’t have to.”

“Does it make a difference that I want to?” Bond says quietly, finally stepping in closer.

“Yes,” Q says honestly. “Yes it does.”

“I love you,” Bond says, a bit afraid himself, but soldiering on because that’s what he’s always done. “Those are the only words that are left for me to say, and they are all that I mean to say as well. I love you and that is all I have to give.”

Q looked him in the eyes, and in the dim light of the room, he smiled.

“And that’s all I need.”

* * *

Bond visits the children and Violet the next time Q visits. Violet shoots him a smile and pulls Q to the side while Bond entertains the younger girls.

“I see you talked, Klaus,” she says, tying her hair in a ribbon.

“Yes,” he says, thumbing through a book.

“Good,” is all she answers. Then she winks and walks off into the room where the others are. Q tucks the book underneath his arm.

And he follows her in.

**Author's Note:**

> Remember! If you find any errors, please please let me know!!!!! I'll fix it right up, it's all good. 
> 
> Also, I hope you liked!!
> 
> Sorry for all the exclamation points/marks. 
> 
> Got the title from the VFD's motto in A Series of Unfortunate Events, by Lemony Snicket. And I quoted Mr. Lemony Snicket a lot in this. HA! Especially the letter to Beatrice, from his supplement book the Beatrice Letters. I changed a few things around in it, but it's intact for the most part. NOT MY WORK GUYS!!!!!! 
> 
> I MAKE NO WORK OFF OF THIS. 
> 
> Hope you liked anyway.


End file.
